


In the Eyes of a Cat

by jilliancares



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ? - Freeform, Animagus Draco Malfoy, Bonding, Drarry, Gryffindor, M/M, They become friends, they bond a lot i feel like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:50:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilliancares/pseuds/jilliancares
Summary: With not much else to do during his year-long house-arrest, Draco decides to become and Animagus, ignoring the explicit warnings of how dangerous it is to attempt alone. Thankfully, help arrives in the form of three do-gooding Gryffindors, once he finds himself unable to transform back into a human again.





	

“Flimby is bringing Master Draco his tea, sir,” Flimby the house-elf said, looking up at Draco with wide eyes, a tea cup and saucer held aloft.

“No thanks, Flimby,” Draco responded, turning away and dutifully returning to his books. He skimmed the page before turning it, almost absolutely sure that he was prepared. It was all he’d been studying for months, he was pretty sure every detail was cemented in his mind—he was ready.

“But Master Draco is needing tea! Master Draco is not having eaten anything in hours!”

Draco sighed in annoyance but obediently took the tea. He couldn’t help it; his entire appetite disappeared when he was this close to a breakthrough.

For months he’d had nothing to occupy himself but this. After the trials he’d been condemned to house-arrest for an entire year—a year with which he was to be without his wand. Unable to perform magic, Draco had found himself studying, reading and learning as much as he could. It was the least he could do, anyway, and he’d felt as if he might go crazy if he were doing nothing at all.

And finally he’d come across a very interesting book about Animagi. From there he’d read another, and another; really, he was rather lucky the Manor had such a vast library.

But now he was prepared. His mind was full to the brim with information about Animagi, and no one was around to tell him not to do it, seeing as his father was in Azkaban and his mother holing herself away somewhere in France. And the best part about becoming an Animagus? It didn’t require a wand.

Overcome with excitement, Draco downed the tea, barely even wincing as it burned his tongue, and shoved the cup back towards Flimby.

“I’ll be in the gardens,” he informed the house-elf, before standing swiftly and departing from the library, leaving the tombs of books behind. He was prepared; he knew practically all there was to know, he was sure. He knew how concentrated and certain he had to be, and had gone to explicit measures to discover his Animagus form. Now all that was left was to actually _do_ it.

Once in the gardens, Draco carefully scanned his surroundings before seating himself on the ground, the soft strands of grass brushing his fingers. He couldn’t help feeling paranoid around the Manor—he supposed it was what came with living with Voldemort in his home, having it not really feel like a home anymore. And it wasn’t. It was his own prison, a place he was forced to be. He couldn’t leave the grounds, and not for lack of trying. The wards kept him firmly inside, thanks to the Ministry.

And it was only thanks to Harry Potter that he had it this good. Lots of wizards had been raving for him to join his father in Azkaban, but Potter had spoken for him at the trials, had defended him. And so house-arrest it was. If it weren’t for the house-elves, Draco wouldn’t have even used his voice in months, not that he used it very often, still. He tried to avoid the house-elves when he could, always intent on feeding him and getting on him from staying up too late.

“Mater Draco is having bruises under his eyes,” one had squeaked at him. “Master Draco is needing _sleep_.” Of course, with sleep came the nightmares, so his bags weren’t really something that was fleeting

Draco pushed these thoughts from his mind, taking a deep breath and concentrating. He needed to be thinking about himself, about his size and shape and his alternate form—how he would slide from one being into the next, his skin shifting and re-shaping, creating.

He felt it when it happened; felt something inside of him seem to curl up before he experienced what he could only describe as _shriveling_. It felt as if he were aging in the blink of an eye, his skin stretching over his bones and curling in on itself. Panic nearly overtook him at the thought, at the feeling, but he kept it at bay, continuing to think about his form, his core, his shape. He’d read all about this of course. _Don’t panic. Concentrate_.

It was over almost as soon as it started, and Draco was much smaller, his limbs shorter and different and changed, but still good. They felt strong, and when he took a step forward they all responded properly. It felt like he’d been in this body his entire life, there wasn’t any action he felt unable to do. He could make his ears twitch, his tail flick. He could bunch up on his hind legs and launch himself forward, if he so desired.

Yes, Draco Malfoy was a cat. And a light grey one at that, not that he was very surprised by it.

Elated by his accomplishment, Draco set off at a run, sprinting through the gardens, darting under bushes and leaping over flower beds. It was astonishing, how swiftly he could move. The smells were intense, much stronger than what he was used to. He could smell other animals around the yard, could hear them rustling in the trash and chirping in the bushes.

He ran and played and dozed the day away, barely noticing as the sun sank through the sky. It was liberating, being able to move and breathe through a body that was still inexplicably _his_ , but completely different in every way. He felt more alive than he had in months.

After finally getting his fill, Draco came to a stop and sat. He closed his eyes and concentrated. And concentrated. And concentrated.

And he continued to be a cat.

Panic started to rise in his chest—what if he was stuck as a cat forever? What if he couldn’t change back? He frantically tried to think back to what his books had said about changing back. Of course, each and every one of them had set stiff instructions to never try transforming while alone, had outlined the explicit dangers of doing so, but Draco didn’t have any other options. He _was_ all alone.

Changing back was usually the hardest part, Draco was aware. But he’d thought that it wouldn’t be a problem for him, that if he studied enough and was determined enough…

Draco shook his head. Of course. He just needed to try harder, needed to be more determined.

But as he continued to sit there and try to concentrate, his human body evaded him, and fear continued to expand throughout him. It made perfect sense why it was harder to return to his normal self. The components of his body had all been completely shifted, and of course his brain had been too, in order to compensate for all the new extremes to his senses, to compensate for his body and his abilities. And his new brain wasn’t the same as his old one, wasn’t experienced at all with magic. It was unable to transform back either. Apparently.

Night began to fall around the Manner, and though it was dark, Draco could still see perfectly, which was interesting. It didn’t help the fact that he was stuck in this body, however. And he couldn’t open doors. And the house-elves didn’t know he was trying to become and Animagus, and would therefore not know that he was the cat meowing at the front door.

A wild idea suddenly occurred to Draco, and trying not to get his hopes up, he stood and ran for the edge of the property. It was possible… well, it probably wouldn’t happen, the Ministry’s wards were probably good enough but… But maybe they wouldn’t recognize his magical signature when he was a cat. Maybe they wouldn’t be attuned to him in this form, especially as he was as of yet an unregistered Animagi.

When Draco reached the part of the property that usually began to tingle with his presence, and then the part that shocked him if he ignored the warning, without any of the usual pain, he let out a strange meow of triumph. And then he was running even faster, away from his property, out of the wards. He was free. _Free_!

Of course, he didn’t have the best navigational skills, and he was unable to perform any magic without his wand, not to mention that he didn’t even have hands right now, but… Well, he was free! He didn’t know where to go, didn’t know what to do. He definitely didn’t want to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life, but who could he even go to for help? And how could he explain that he was a cat without being able to speak?

Suddenly, two sharp cracks sounded through the air, much harsher than usual due to Draco’s sensitive ears, and he jumped back in surprise, hiding behind one of the many trees beside the path.

“I can’t believe we’re taking calls from _house-elves_ now,” a familiar voice muttered. Draco peered around the tree in horror. “And right before our shift ends!”

“Don’t let Hermione hear you saying that,” Potter answered. “Besides, the house-elf seemed really distressed. Said it hadn’t seen Malfoy for hours.”

“Yeah well, he’s obviously on the property somewhere,” Weasley said.

“You never know,” Potter said lightly, before starting up the path.

“And isn’t it funny that it was us sent here, anyway?” Weasley demanded. Potter snorted.

“Of course not. I’m the one who vouched for him at his trials when half the higher ups wanted him dead. They think they’re punishing me, or something.”

Draco watched as Potter and Weasley made their way up the path, Weasley still managing to complain about whatever problems he had in his orange head while Potter looked to at least have a modicum of concentration. Slowly, Draco followed them, finding it wonderfully easy to sneak around in the body of a cat. He was lithe, his muscles moving smoothly and swiftly, his delicate pads finding the soft dirt and avoiding leaves and branches, which would crunch underfoot. Yes, he managed to stay out of view, but he stopped following them once they reached the wards. He'd just gotten out of that wretched place, he wasn't going back in.

Sometimes he wondered if Azkaban would've been better than this. They'd gotten rid of the Dementors, after all. But this place, his childhood home, was ruined with memories of the war and Voldemort. Memories of that great bastard walking down his halls, sitting as his dining table, whispering nastily to that pet snake of his. Memories that plagued so many areas of the Manor that Draco never felt safe. While everyone else was finally getting away from the war and putting the past behind them, Draco was practically stuck in it.

"You don't think he's waiting in there just to attack us, do you?" Weasley asked, mere steps away from the wards. Potter shook his head.

"I don't think he would do that. Plus, he doesn't have a wand anyway."

They were just about to step inside the wards when Draco realized that this was his chance. Here he was, stuck in the body of a cat with almost no hope of returning to normal without some form help, and here was practically the only wizard left who didn't wish he was dead. Sure, it was _Potter_ and Draco despised the very thought of asking him for help, especially since he'd already done so without warning at Draco's trial, but he had no other choice. When else would a wizard happen to be near his home? And what were his chances of them not being hostile?

"Meow," Draco said, now sitting in the middle of the path behind them. They both paused, turning to look at him.

"Aw," Weasley said, immediately dropping to his knees and holding a hand out towards Draco, making an odd chittering sound with his mouth that was probably supposed to encourage Draco to come forward. Draco flattened his ears.

"I don't think he likes that, Ron," Potter said, staring at Draco curiously. "And besides, we have a job to do. We have to see if Malfoy—"

"Mrow," Draco interrupted. _Yes_ , he thought. _Malfoy. I'm Malfoy_.

"Come here!" Weasley insisted quietly, still seeming intent on petting Draco. He looked at Weasley with as much contempt as he could summon in this form.

He then looked up at Potter, wishing he could raise an eyebrow or sneer. His facial features didn't allow for such movement, however, and he settled on letting his tail flick from side to side instead.

"This cat's creeping me out," Potter muttered. He nudged Weasley with his boot. "Let's go.”

"I want to pet it," Weasley whined, shuffling forward slightly on his knees. Draco let his hackles raise slightly. He could feel his throat contracting, the beginning of a hiss trying to edge its way through his teeth.

"Don't touch him," Potter begged. "He looks angry." Draco confirmed this by flicking his tail even more. If Weasley put so much as one grubby finger on Draco he would claw his damned eyes out.

“But—" Weasley protested, looking at Draco desperately. “C’mere kitty," he said insistently, practically begging Draco to come forward. Draco just looked away from him, instead turning his eyes on the clearly more sensible Potter.

"Meow," he informed. _I am Draco Malfoy_. " _Meow_."

"Ron," Potter said, his hand rising up to scratch at his head. "This might sound kind of weird, but I think that maybe the cat is Malfoy."

" _What_?" Ron spluttered. “That’s—"

But Draco interrupted him, meowing affirmatively. Weasley looked pale.

"That can't be Malfoy," he insisted, sounding desperate.

"If you're Malfoy, meow once," Potter instructed, his voice suddenly deeper and authoritative.

"If Roberts could see us now..." Weasley muttered.

"Meow," Draco answered.

"Cats always meow," Weasley reasoned.

"If you're Malfoy," Potter said. "Er..."

"Let me pet you!" Weasley interrupted. Draco glared at him and hissed. He would rather stay as a cat than let Weasley touch him.

"I think that's him," Potter said quietly.

"Man," Weasley muttered, disappointed. "Hermione wants a new cat, you know."

"Is Crookshanks not enough?" Potter asked with a frown, turning to look at the other Auror.

"She says he need a friend," Weasley muttered.

"Alright Malfoy," Potter said suddenly. "Why are you a cat?" Draco just looked at him. Surely he wasn't _that_ stupid? Or maybe there was no hope after all.

Thankfully, it seemed to be a rhetorical question, and Potter took a few imposing steps towards Draco (Draco raised his hackles even more, but refused to back away), before crouching down to his knees and examining him with a squint. "Animagus?" he said. Draco nodded.

"Why don't you turn back?" he asked. Draco tried to express that he _couldn't_ through his eyes alone.

"Maybe he can't," Weasley said, coming to stand behind Potter. "It's supposed to be really hard to transform back if it's your first time."

"But this can't be his first time," Potter argued. "Everyone knows it's too dangerous to attempt your first transformation alone. He's not an idiot."

Draco hissed. Of course he wasn't an idiot! He was just extremely confident in his abilities! Although, that was what was causing his current predicament as a cat...

"It's gotta be," Weasley said. "If he's still unregistered the wards would've been confused by his magical signature; he could've escaped."

"Were you trying to escape?" Potter asked suddenly, his brows furrowed. Technically, no. Draco hadn't even known that he'd be able to get out, but now that he was out... He really didn't want to go back in.

And so Draco said nothing.

"We have to get him help," Weasley said. "He needs a healer or something—someone who can help him transform back."

"And who would help him?" Potter demanded, not for nothing. Draco knew that if he were to be mortally wounded right this second he would probably be done for; he didn't doubt the healers at Saint Mungos would refuse to treat him. "Not to mention that he'll be in loads of trouble for trying to escape."

"Well we can't just leave him here."

"Of course not. But who can help him?" Potter demanded.

A moment passed, before they said in unison, "Hermione."

\--

Getting to Potter's apartment—one that he apparently shared with Weasley—was a hassle. Mostly because Draco hadn't felt very inclined to let either of them touch him and Apparate them away. In the end he'd finally let Potter hold out his hand, which Draco had delicately placed his paw on top of, before they were whisked away.

Potter briefly explained that he and Weasley would have to return to the office to fill out some paperwork before they were leaving again, disappearing one after the other into the floo. He hoped they wouldn't say anything about him not being in the Manor, seeing as he wasn't really in the mood for getting arresting.

Left alone in their apartment, Draco used his time efficiently and thoroughly snooped through each of their rooms—the ones that they’d left the doors open to, anyway. Their house was incredibly homey, comfortable couches and chairs and worn tables decorating the place. There was evidence of a third person hanging around as well, though he wasn't sure if Granger actually lived with them or just visited a lot.

Eventually, Draco settled on snoozing on a plush chair for the remainder of his wait, until he heard the familiar _whoosh_ of the floo and two pairs of footsteps coming through.

"Floo Hermione," Potter instructed, his footsteps thudding loudly into the kitchen. "I'll start making dinner."

Hearing the prospect of food, Draco stood up with a languid stretch and padded lightly into the kitchen.

"Meow," he said matter of factly.

"Yes, I'll make you food too," Potter said without looking up. Curious, Draco hopped onto the counter, surprised at his own agility, and stalked towards the end of it. He watched as Potter cut up vegetables before moving onto a chicken, at which Draco scooted closer, his stomach rumbling.

Potter snorted and held out a chunk, which Draco happily snapped up.

"He's in here," Weasley's voice rumbled from the living room, before the door was opening and Granger was stalking towards the counter, staring at Draco scrutinizingly.

"This is Draco?" she said.

" _Draco_?" Weasley spluttered, turning to look at Granger, aghast.

"That _is_ his name," she said primly.

"So what are we gonna do?" Potter asked, washing his hands before leaning against the counter, his sleeves rolled up. He had nice arms, not that Draco would every say so aloud.

"Well, I've brought some books on Animagi," she said, before pulling out a bag much too small to be holding all the books she pulled out of it. "All of them say how stupid and dangerous it is to attempt transforming alone," she added, her gaze sliding to Draco. He simply turned his head, his tail involuntarily flicking again.

It took many hours of the three Gryffindors pouring over the tombs of books to find a solution, during which Draco napped, explored, and meowed petulantly. Weasley also managed to pet him during the ordeal, though he'd received his hand back covered in scratches.

"It says here that you need to be completely relaxed," Potter said, his finger sliding along the text from where he lay on his stomach on the carpet, the fireplace blazing warmly beside him. Draco had decided to settle beside him. For the warmth of the fireplace. It has absolutely nothing to do with the residual feelings of a crush he'd had fifth year—absolutely nothing.

Seeing as he was already laying down beside the fire place, Draco decided that he was about as relaxed as he could get. He expressed this by blinking slowly up at Potter.

“Er—in mind as well as body. You have to feel calm and secure to be able to transform back. It says to 'visualize yourself growing-slash-shrinking back into your original skin and to stay calm throughout the process,'" he read. Draco's whiskers twitched in annoyance. It was kind of hard to feel calm and secure when he was currently stuck in the body of the cat, unable to rely on anyone but himself to transform back. Not to mention that as soon as he did turn back he'd probably be shipped right back to the Manor to rot. Perhaps it really would be better to stay here as a cat for a while. At least he was in a place not haunted by memories, and he had company, even if they were a bunch of do-goofing Gryffindors who he couldn't _actually_ communicate with.

Having made a decision, Draco languidly stood before sprinting out of the room as quickly as he could, which received exclamations from the three behind him.

Ignoring Weasley's roar of, “Where are you going!?” Draco darted up the stairs and into the nearest room, hiding under the bed inside of it. Potter and Weasley were just going to have to accept him as a permanent fixture in their home, at least until his year-long sentence was up and he could leave the wretched Manor safely.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before a pair of feet appeared in the doorway, which approached before stopping in front of the bed.

"Come out, Malfoy," Potter said. Draco said nothing, and only partially because he couldn't actually say anything at all.

Potter ducked down and looked under the bed before reached out a hand for Draco, which he half-heartedly swiped at. Eventually though, he let himself be corralled out from under the bed, and he only hissed a little bit when Potter picked him up and plopped him down on the bed, joining him moments after. Draco sat primly.

"You can transform back safely, you know," he said a few moments later, his arms crossed behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. "We're not gonna send you back to the Manor immediately. I can see that you feel uneasy about that place." Draco's hackles raised in offense. Sure, it was true, but he didn't like anyone reading him so easily. Especially when he was a cat—his emotions didn’t even _look_ the same

"Why don't you try again?" Potter suggested, and Draco glared at him before finally shutting his eyes. Perhaps he could do it now that there wasn't much of an audience.

Draco tried to clear his mind, focusing on his body, his mind, on the way his four feet felt underneath him, on the way his muscles felt under his skin, shifting silently as he moved. And then he imagined his fur receding into his skin as his body expanded outward, as he grew and his bones enlarged and tail disappeared. And then he wasn't just imagining it anymore, he was _doing_ it, and it felt like his blood was boiling beneath his skin, like he was being stretched tight and pulled apart and ripped in half—and then it stopped, and Draco was panting, face-down on Potter's mattress, his hair an absolute mess.

He could only be thankful that he was fully clothed—his books hadn't been too clear on that part.

"You did it!" Potter praised quietly, and Draco groaned as he flexed his legs and spread his fingers. All at once, embarrassment at having been caught in his feline form shoved its way into his brain. It was as if there was a block in his mind when he was a cat, and now that he wasn't one anymore he was thoroughly ashamed and mortified—he needed to get out of there.

Draco lurched to his feet, his muscles shaking beneath the sudden weight, unused to his form, and he stumbled towards the door, stopping to grip tightly onto a dresser.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he managed. "Sorry for intruding."

With that, he was lurching out of the room and down the stairs, his legs getting more used to his body, and he slid into the living room, thankfully free of Gryffindors. He shoved his hand into the pot of floo powder by the fireplace, unsure of where he was going to go, only knowing that he didn't want to return to the Manor.

"Malfoy wait!" Potter cried, his footsteps crashing down the stairs loudly. Draco gripped his handful tighter, thinking hard. Where could he go? Where could he go? Nowhere with wizards, they would turn him in. But muggle places weren't connected to the floo. _Where could he go?_

Finally, Draco wrenched his arm from the pot and tossed a handful of powder into the fire, deciding to just hop in and hope for the best, seeing where it would spit him out.

"Stop!" Potter gasped, grabbing onto his arm before he could step into the fire. Draco struggled for a moment longer before slumping into Potter who was very clearly stronger than him. It made sense, anyway, seeing as he was an Auror. "Where are you going?"

"Anywhere," Draco muttered bitterly, before Potter waved his wand and the fire was snuffed out.

"What's going on?" Weasley said from the kitchen doorway, his mouth stuffed full by the sounds of it. "Hey! It's Malfoy!"

"Good observation, Weasley," Draco sneered, shaking Potter off him and crossing his arms—well—crossly. He couldn't help remembering when Weasley had managed to pet him, and he shuddered in disgust.

Ignoring the obvious contempt in his voice, Weasley blazed on. "How did you get it to work?"

Draco flushed at the memory of Potter finding him and comforting him. "Intense concentration," Draco lied, sniffing and turning to examine the living room. Everything looked a bit different now that he wasn't mere inches from the ground, and the colors looked a more intense as well—vivid.

"Where's Hermione?" Potter asked, as Weasley shoved another bite of sandwich into his mouth. And hadn't he just eaten dinner not too long ago?

“Thee heft," Weasley managed through his mouthful, little chunks of food flying as he spoke. Draco cringed but Potter didn't even seem to notice.

"I think Draco's going to be staying the night," Potter said.

" _Draco_?" Weasley coughed out, having somehow managed to swallow his monstrous bite. Draco silently agreed (who did Potter think he was calling him _Draco_?), but he didn't show his surprise other than a slight twitch of his eyebrow.

"It's his name," Potter said in a clear imitation of their third (and final?) friend.

"I regret to refuse your invitation, Potter," Draco began, but Potter interrupted him.

"It's only thanks to us that the Ministry doesn’t know about your little excursion," he said. "And it's Harry."

Draco glowered furiously. Was he being _blackmailed_?

“Sounds like you’re staying the night then,” Weasley grunted, and Draco sighed heavily.

“Where am I supposed to sleep?” he demanded.

—

Draco had expected, from a Gryffindor, to be offered a bed. It seemed like the Gryffindor kind of thing to do. What he hadn’t expected was to be regulated to the living room couch, well-worn and lumpy and with not nearly enough blankets. Suffice to say, he wasn’t finding it easy to fall asleep, not that he normally did.

Back at the Manor, he couldn’t help feeling uneasy, knowing how empty it was and how empty it once _wasn’t_. Not to mention that the Manor was old, constantly creaking and shifting. And the house-elves were always up to something too, moving around with the pitter-patter of their feet on the floors above and below him, cleaning and preparing the house for the next day.

Sighing, Draco rolled off the couch and stood, shivering in his thin t-shirt and boxers. Potter hadn’t offered him pajamas and he hadn’t lowered himself enough to ask, so it was his underthings that he was sleeping in. Or, trying to sleep in.

Draco wandered into the kitchen quietly. Having nothing better to do, he started snooping through the cabinets. He wasn’t really sure what half the things even were, seeing as he’d never actually made his own food before. Baking soda? Baking powder? What was the difference?

Humming inquisititively, Draco put the ingredients back where he found them and approached the large rectangular metal box. It’d captured his attention when he was first in the kitchen but he’d resisted inspecting it until now, partially to leave what was hopefully the best for last, and partially because he was wary of whatever it was. He didn’t know what kinds of things a bunch of Gryffindors might invest their money in and whether it’d be dangerous or not.

Gathering his courage, Draco reached out for what looked like a handle and pulled. He stumbled back with a shocked gasp as light flooded the kitchen, pouring out of the strange contraption. And even more strange was the cold air coming with it, making him even colder than he had been before.

Letting his curiosity override his fear, Draco took a slow step closer, until he was leaning inside the metal box (filled with food?) and tapping the weird thing towards the back that the light seemed to be emanating from. It wasn’t any spell that Draco knew of, and it definitely wasn’t the soft blue glow of a _lumos_. Draco grabbed the box’s door and slowly started to close it, inhaling sharply when the light suddenly cut out, just before the door hit home. Had he broken Potter’s… _thing_?

Draco opened it up again to examine the damage, stumbling back in surprise once more as the light turned on a second time.

“What the hell?” he breathed, slowly shutting the door again and watching the inside of the box go dark.

“Ron was astounded by it at first too,” a voice said quietly from behind him, and Draco slammed the door shut, spinning to face Potter guiltily.

“I’m not _astounded_  by it,” Draco protested. “I’m just… surprised you could afford one. We have several of these back at the Manor, of course.”

“Oh really?”

“Of course,” Draco said solemnly.

“And what do you call it?” Potter asked, his eyes glinting with mirth. Draco paused for a moment, before remembering all the food Potter had been keeping inside of it.

“A Food Receptacle,” Draco improvised.

“It’s a fridge,” Potter provided.

“Yes,” Draco said, taking it all in stride. “A Food Receptacle In… er… a Dehydroxide Grade Environment.”

“Is Dehydroxide even a thing?” Potter said incredulously.

“Of course.”

Potter snorted before hopping up onto the counter, shoving his hand through his already catastrophic hair and somehow making it look worse. “It’s muggle.”

“What?”

“The fridge. It’s muggle. It runs on electricity.”

Draco flushed, realizing that his lies really had held no basis and that Potter had seen through them all easily. “What’s Ekletricity?”

And that’s how Draco ended up talking with The Boy Who Lived in the middle of the night in his comfortable little kitchen, learning all about atoms and electrons and Ekletricity. It was crazy how these things, these little atoms capable of producing things like _light_ existed everywhere, even in the wizarding world, and he’d had no clue. Even crazier was that muggles had somehow found out about them _without_ the use of magic, and that they’d mastered them and learnt how to _use_ them. It made Draco wonder if there was science in their magic, if the spells they performed and the potions they made had something to do with atoms and electrons and protons, or if it all defied science entirely.

They talked for hours, Potter telling him all about the things he’d learned in science classes in the muggle school he’d gone to before Hogwarts and the things he’d researched on his own after Hogwarts. They talked until the sky faded from an inky black and became a soft gray, tinged with pink on the horizon as the sun came up—and that was fine with Draco, sleep had never been very agreeable with him anyway. Or at least, for the past few years it hadn’t.

Weasley wandered into the kitchen before the sun was fully up either, and it was strange, realizing that he was an early bird. It was strange, realizing new things and _learning_.

“What’re you two doing up?” he muttered, walking past where Draco was perched on the counter beside the fridge and pulling it open. Draco leaned forward curiously, peering into the contraption as Weasley pulled out a carton of milk. He didn’t even sound surprised about Draco’s continued presence around his house. He wondered if it was an often occurrence, for people to be dropping by temporarily. Potter had some sort of savior complex, anyway, perhaps he was constantly pulling strays into his home. (Draco shifted uncomfortably, realizing that as a cat Animagus, calling himself a stray might be hitting a little too close to home.)

“Didn’t sleep,” Potter admitted, and Weasley frowned.

“You should’ve just chugged some Dreamless Sleep potion, or something,” he muttered, now drinking directly out of the carton of milk. Draco took a mental note to not drink any milk during his time here. Or anything in a carton. Perhaps he just wouldn’t eat at all.

“Are you crazy?” Draco interjected, finally comprehending what Weasley had just suggested. “Dreamless Sleep is so bad for you—it does all sorts of stuff to the natural chemicals in your brain. It’s a leading cause for depression among teens as well; parents who give it to their children too much when they’re young are to blame when they develop depression when they’re older.”

Silence. “Wow,” Potter said finally. “I never knew that.”

“Of course, it’s less detrimental when you’re older, but it’s really not a good idea unless it’s a last resort kind of thing. I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t been remedied by now.”

“How _do_ you know all that?” Weasley demanded, leaning against the counter. Potter snatched the carton from his hands, casually inspected the nozzle, shrugged, and drank from it as well. Merlin, Gryffindors really were disgusting.

“There’s not a lot to do when you’re on house-arrest,” Draco admitted, surprising himself with his honestly. “Our library always has been huge…”

“Is that how you learned to become an Animagus?” Potter asked, and Draco nodded.

“It’s surprisingly difficult,” Draco said. “Took a lot of study and patience.”

“Not enough patience,” Weasley muttered. “Didn’t those books say anything about how dangerous it was to do it alone?”

Draco shrugged. “I was willing to take a risk.”

“And you’re lucky we were there.”

“Can you still do it?” Potter asked, breaking the slightly uneasy atmosphere.

Draco frowned. “I would imagine. It’s supposed to be easier after the first time.”

“Do it,” Potter prompted. Draco raised an eyebrow at the other man.

“How come?”

“Why not?”   
Draco blinked. Well… he didn’t really have a reason not to, he supposed. Unless he was still scared of being stuck after he transformed, but he doubted he would be, having been able to manage it once. With a shrug, Draco closed his eyes and concentrated until he was shrinking. His clothes transformed with him, with he hadn’t really paid attention to the first time, but it was a good thing to note.

“Just like McGonagall,” Weasley muttered, likely recalling the times they’d seen their transfiguration professor turn into a cat, for whatever reason.

Draco’s exhaustion seemed to follow him to this body and all at once he felt overwhelmingly tired. Not bothering to offer any sort of farewell to the Gryffindors, Draco hopped down from the counter and padded into the living room.

“Well where the hell is he going?” Weasley muttered, and Potter just laughed. Once in the living room, Draco hopped deftly onto the couch, much more comfortable in his new form, and fell asleep.

—

Draco startled awake with the sound of the floo activating, his eyes snapping open as a bushy haired woman stepped through.

“Still a cat, then?” Granger sighed. Draco blinked. Transformed.

“No,” he said smugly, now reclined comfortably on the uncomfortable couch. Granger just looked confused, and she twisted around a bit, likely looking for her companions.

“Where are Harry and Ron?” she asked, finally stepping fully into the living room. Draco shrugged.

“I just woke up,” he provided. “At work, I’d imagine.”

“They don’t work on weekends,” Granger said with a frown. Draco shrugged again. Which day of the week it was didn’t really stick in your mind when you were spending all your time locked up and endlessly bored.

Draco was about to suggest another place where they might be (he was leaning towards the kitchen, seeing as they’d all naturally convened there once already) when Granger simply opened her mouth and hollered. “Ron!” she called loudly, making Draco jerk backwards in surprise. “Harry!”

“Up here!” Potter responded, before Draco had a chance to tell her off for being so unrefined. Granger made her way to the stairs as if this was an everyday occurrence, which it very well could be, and Draco stood up to follow her, curious.

The stairs creaked loudly with every step, making Draco wonder how he’d managed to sleep through the sound of Potter and Weasley going up them in the first place. The entire place looked kind of drab and old, the wallpaper dark and peeling in places, the frames on the walls elegant but empty of any actual portraits. All of the furniture contrasted the gloom of the house’s original framework, worn and bright and comfortable-looking. It was as if the house and the occupants of it were fighting to make it look more their own way, and Draco wasn’t sure who was winning.

When they emerged in the room it was to find Potter and Weasley doing nothing more interesting than playing chess. Weasley was clearly trumping Potter at it, however, as the majority of the black pieces were set off to the side, clearly having been captured. Not to mention the fact that Potter looked annoyed and very much defeated.

“Checkmate,” Weasley announced, and Potter huffed angrily.

“We should’ve played exploding snap,” he sulked.

“You only think that because you’re better than me at it,” Weasley argued.

“Well you only like chess because you’re better than _me_.”

“I can’t help it that you suck,” Weasley said with a shrug, and Potter scoffed before kicking him under the little table.

“I’ll verse you next, Weasley,” Draco offered, finally drawing attention to himself and Granger. Weasley’s eyes fell on Granger first, filling with warmth, before flitting to Draco.

“Think you can beat me, Malfoy?”

“Undoubtedly,” Draco said with a smirk, before stalking across the room.

“Move, Potter,” he commanded.

“It’s Harry,” he corrected.

“Move, Harry.”

He complied, climbing out of the chair to settle instead on the wide windowsill beside the table.

“How was work, Hermione?” Harry asked, as Draco and Weasley set about resetting the chess board.

“Exhausting,” Granger answered, also coming around to sit beside Harry. “Three different people came in today having hexed off their toes. You’d think that that wouldn’t be such a common occurrence.”

“You work at Saint Mungos?” Draco said suddenly, turning to look at her. She nodded.

“Well, I’m training still, but yes.”

“I had you pegged for the Ministry,” Draco admitted, and Granger nodded thoughtfully.

“I did too, for a while.”

“Your go,” Weasley muttered from across him, and Draco moved his piece accordingly.

“What about you?” Harry interjected suddenly, and Draco glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the board, where Weasley was moving a pawn.

“What _about_ me?”

“What do you want to do?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t really know.” Weasley scoffed. “What?”

“You do too know,” he said matter-of-factly, moving his piece immediately after Draco moved his, which was a bit unsettling. Either he was acting quickly simply _to_ unsettle him, or he’d seen the move Draco was going to make and had planned ahead accordingly.

“And what makes you think that?”

“You were talking so passionately about potions earlier—isn’t that what you’re interested in?”

“Oh,” Draco said quietly. He really hadn’t known what he wanted to do in life or what he might be interested in, but now that Weasley was pointing it out… “Yeah. Maybe.” He moved his knight.

“Well it sounded like you knew a lot about it,” Weasley said finally, moving his piece while he did. “Maybe you could be the one to fix Dreamless Sleep.” Granger perked up immediately.

“You know about the negative side effects of Dreamless Sleep?” she inquired excitedly. Obviously she would know a lot about it, and probably other potions and remedies as well, seeing as she worked in that field.

“Yes,” Draco answered easily. “And others as well, there’s a few for colds and fevers that have frogroot when they _don’t_ need it, and we all know the side effects of _that_ ,” he scoffed.

“I know!” Granger exclaimed.

“Oh Merlin,” Weasley whispered, staring past Draco to look at Harry. He moved a piece as he did. _How_ was he doing that? “We just got another Hermione, didn’t we?”

—

Miraculously, Draco wasn’t kicked out of Harry’s house once he was back on his feet, so to say. The exact opposite happened, in fact, and he was invited to _stay_.

“You don’t have to, of course,” Harry had said, looking awkward as he’d shoved his hand through his hair—and Salazar, he should stop doing that, it looked bad enough already. “But I thought it’d be better than returning to the Manor, and this way the Ministry wouldn’t find out about you…”

“I accept,” Draco had said easily. And that had been that. He was _living_ with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. He might as well go ahead and throw in Hermione Granger in that statement as well, seeing as she was at the house more often than not.

It was strange, waking up in the mornings (or already being awake—that couch was still no good, and sometimes he simply slept as a cat instead) and making breakfast with Harry and Weasley (and snatching the carton away from the two before they could defile it) before sending them off to work. He still didn’t quite understand why he’d been invited to stay, or why they’d even tolerated him in the first place, but he wasn’t going to do anything to ruin it. He figured it had something to do with being Harry Potter. The papers said a lot about him being altruistic, about him being a savior and a giver and a hero. Draco just thought he did what was right.

A few times Draco had made his two housemates breakfast, warily retrieving food from the fridge and experimenting with it. His first few tries didn’t turn out very well, and he was pretty sure that the two Gryffindors had only scarfed it down in order to be polite (and to taste it for less time) but he was getting better. The fridge did still manage to throw him out of the loop occasionally, simply because it was so different. The fact that he had an inkling of knowledge of how it actually worked was satisfying, however, and he wouldn’t mind learning more, if all muggle things were all as interesting as Ekeltricity.

During the day, Draco spent his time exploring as both human and feline, getting into every nook and cranny and even going so far as to snoop through his housemates’ rooms. That wasn’t enough to occupy him forever, though, and it seemed as though Harry had realized this, as one day he came home with a bag full of books and another full or random potion ingredients.

“Because I figured you liked to read,” he said, holding up the bag of books. “And—for your potions.” He held up the other.

After that, while everyone else spent their days working and being productive, so did Draco. He ordered a few potion making books via owl order and started as soon as he could. He took detailed notes on every tried (and failed) attempt at fixing Dreamless Sleep, and although it was difficult and tedious, he slowly but surely felt like he was getting somewhere, being able to rule out ingredients based on their effects and reactions with the other ingredients.

For the first time in months he felt as if he was leaving the past behind, as if he was pulling himself from it and charging into the future—and this time with friends by his side.

Sure, he’d had friends back in Hogwarts, but now they were either dead, AWOL, imprisoned, or not talking to him.

Even as Draco continued with his potion-making experiments, he couldn’t help wondering if he ever managed to make his potion right if anyone would even buy it. Who would buy something made by the hands of Draco Malfoy, known Death Eater and generally hated by the entire public? He wondered if people would continue to take Dreamless Sleep, would continue to risk the side effects, just to spite him and his work.

Whenever his thoughts did go down this path, he tried to push it away. It wasn’t beneficial, and besides—even if it only ended up being his friends taking it (and since when had he started thinking of Harry and co. as his _friends_?), then it’d be worth it.

—

“Ron’s making dinner tonight,” Harry informed breathlessly, stepping out of the fireplace and collapsing onto the couch beside Draco. Draco transformed back into his normal self, blinking momentarily to shake off the dregs of confusion, and sprawled appropriately on the couch.

“How come?”

“I’m thinking spaghetti,” Hermione announced, stepping through the fireplace as well and climbing over Draco and then Harry to settle on his other side, leaning against the arm of the couch. She shoved her feet under Harry’s thighs, who didn’t complain.

“Why are we getting free dinner?”

“I’m not making dinner!” Ron cried, tumbling from the fireplace in a huff.

“I heard you were making spaghetti,” Draco answered easily. Ron threw his head back dramatically and groaned.

“I like parmesan on mine,” Harry input quietly, and Draco snickered.

“There’s red sauce in the cupboard,” he added. Harry looked at him with a raised eyebrow and Draco shrugged.

“I was bored.”

“I don’t think I even _really_ lost the bet,” Ron continued, as if he might be getting out of this when three hungry stomachs were already invested.

“Oh, I think you did,” Draco said sagely.

“You don’t even know what the bet was!”

“Chop, chop!” Draco spoke over him. “I’m not getting any less hungry over here!”

Ron loped off into the kitchen, grumbling in annoyance, and Hermione snickered before pushing herself off the couch and following her boyfriend into the kitchen. Harry stayed exactly where he was, close enough for Draco to feel the warmth of his body, though not quite touching.

“What’d you do today?” Harry asked, turning his head to face him. Draco looked away, the proximity getting to him.

“Potions.”

Dinner ended up being nice, despite Draco’s worrying that Ron wouldn’t be able to cook. The four of them gathered on the living room rug and talked as they ate, all making sure to compliment Ron on his great cooking skills.

“And you’ll never see them again,” Ron warned, waving his fork at them threateningly. “Because I’m never making a bet again.”

“I bet you you’ll break that promise within the week,” Draco challenged.

“You’re on!” Ron roared, before pausing to think for a second and looking sheepish. “Or—er… no thanks.”

Soon enough everyone was heading off to bed, Hermione following Ron up the stairs as she often did. Harry bid him goodnight after carrying the dishes into the kitchen, and Draco settled onto the couch as he traipsed up the stairs.

Draco had been living there for almost a month, though he still hadn’t done anything about the couch. It didn’t matter though, as he’d found a simple enough solution. He waited for a few minutes, until he was sure that the other occupants of the house were likely asleep, and shifted into a cat, quietly padding up the stairs, which thankfully didn’t creak under his minimal weight.

Harry always slept with his door open, which Draco had never understood, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Pausing in the doorway, he strained his much-better-than-usual ears to make sure Harry’s breaths were nice and even, before stalking his way into the room and jumping lightly onto the bed. He settled somewhere near the end atop the blankets, aware that he was risking being kicked in the face. He was a lighter sleeper as a cat, however, and so he was good at waking up before Harry could and getting out of his room before he could notice. Or at least, so he thought.

“You know, if you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just asked,” a voice said quietly, and Draco jerked awake, his entire body suddenly thrumming with energy, his ears pinned to the back of his head. Soft morning light was filtering into the room, and Harry was sitting up, smiling at him with tired eyes. Draco hissed.

“Don’t be like that,” Harry laughed, laying back on the bed again and closing his eyes. “You’re the one who snuck into my bed.”

Draco didn’t dignify him with an answer, he just jumped down from the bed and escaped from the room to go sulk elsewhere. Thankfully, when Draco made breakfast for the four of them, Harry said nothing.

And so it became a sort of routine.

Draco snuck into Harry’s room whenever he felt he was asleep, slowly inching further up the bed until eventually he was laying right beside Harry, in no danger of being kicked. Sometimes he woke up first and departed from the room before Harry could see him, and other mornings he woke up to Harry moving about his room, or on one occasion, to Harry petting him.

He’d woken up initially because he’d been purring, and he’d never actually made that sound before. The cause of the purring became known moments later, with soft, gentle hands stroking over his fur and caressing behind his ears. And after that came the realization that it was definitely _Harry_ petting him, and he swatted at Harry’s hand before jumping from the bed and disappearing down the stairs.

He didn’t run away when Harry pet him the next time, however.

Sometimes, their little friend group would have a glass or two of wine with dinner. Draco had never really suspected that this would be a problem, until he realized that he couldn’t quite manage to shift into a cat, his head too fuzzy to focus so completely on the transformation. Though the wine also helped with this feeling like a problem, and so he made his way up the stairs at his usual time, wincing slightly as they creaked loudly, and tip-toed into Harry’s room.

He couldn’t really hear Harry’s breathing or determine how awake he was, but Draco couldn’t really find it in himself to care, and so he climbed into the bed fully dressed and kicked Harry a bit to get him to scoot over. Thankfully, Harry had realized the dilemma with Draco’s wardrobe quite early on, and his clothes had been retrieved from the Manor. Still, he was too lazy and tipsy to change into any semblance of pajamas, and so sleeping in his clothes it was.

When he woke up, he was wrapped around Harry, one of his hands having even managed to find a way to sneak under his shirt and press against his warm, bare skin. He flushed slightly, realizing that this was quite a bit different than him just crashing in here as the small and unopposing form of a cat. He slowly tried to extract himself, attempting to pull his hand away from Harry’s skin, when Harry’s hand came up and caught his, keeping it where it was pressed.

“Stay,” he murmured sleepily, and Draco swallowed thickly before nodding, re-settling himself against the other man.

After that, Draco stopped bothering to sleep as a cat—he slept better in his normal body, anyway. Plus, he liked waking up all pressed against another person, one who eventually took to softly kissing his neck until he awoke.

Neither Ron nor Hermione commented on their sleeping habits, or on their later habits of kissing on the couch or napping against each other on the living room rug. Everything about the development of their relationship felt so smooth and natural that it only seemed to make sense that they would go from cuddling to kissing, from kissing to pressing each other against the counter, panting into each other’s necks. Though, Draco had to admit, the first time Harry ever kissed him really did leave him quite breathless. Of course, Draco later made up for that by making Harry breathless in other ways.

And even when Draco’s year-long house-arrest was up, and the _Daily Prophet_ had a field day of saying so, Harry didn’t ask him to move out. He’d never even come close to suggesting it, seeming to think that Draco was a permanent fixture in his home. And try as he might, Draco just couldn’t find a problem with that.


End file.
